


A Little Anticipation

by Astharoze



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 02:50:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7827493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astharoze/pseuds/Astharoze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hanzo had been downright ignored all day, left to suffer in mild arousal and wonder when Jesse would get on with it and press the godforsaken button on the idiotic little remote in his pocket.  He hadn’t touched it all day- he left Hanzo to stew with the radio-controlled menace inside of him. And hadn't. Turned. It on. Once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Anticipation

**Author's Note:**

> Hon wrote this delight about something they'd been thinkin' about re: hanzo wearing a vibrator all day and jesse forgetting to turn it on
> 
> that just so happens to be my #brand so i smashed this out when i should've been working on art  
> dog bless

Hanzo Shimada was going to kill his lover. That was truly the only option, here. He was going to drag McCree off to the shooting range and tie him to a target, 'teasing’ him with careful misses and making him sweat.

That was the only proper revenge for how Hanzo had been downright ignored all day, left to suffer in mild arousal and wonder when Jesse would get on with it and press the godforsaken button on the idiotic little remote in his pocket. He hadn’t touched it all day- he left Hanzo to stew with the radio-controlled menace inside of him, occasionally nudging up against his walls. The little receiver, attached to his thigh, gives him a reminder that it’s there even when he’s sitting still. It may not be on, but Hanzo knows it’s inside him. Waiting. He huffs as Jesse makes small talk with Tracer before their morning meeting has even begun, chatting about the weather and the upcoming trip to the East coast for an ammo run.

His cowboy’s eyes flicker up to his face, a grin spreading across his lips, and how dare Jesse McCree, honestly.

It started with a bit of training-- a plug, worn through practice. Sitting with the vibrator on all through a meeting. Dinner with the plug pressing up against his walls-- they traded off, who teased who with what. Jesse was just as fun to torture, making the cowboy squirm and chirp at all the right moments, but this was Hanzo’s idea. All day. He’d been working towards it. To let his lover tease him any time, anywhere, all through their day. Through meetings, through debriefs, through tactical planning and location research. 

He hasn’t touched the button. Hasn’t even put his hand in his pocket to taunt. Just smiled at his lover like he forgot it was even there, beaming at Hanzo like a fool. Shimada bares his teeth and ignores it, resting his cheek on his hand all through their meetings. 

It lasts through lunch, Jesse knocking his ankle against Hanzo’s in the cafeteria, stealing the roll off his plate and shifting all his green beans to Hanzo’s. The annoyance. Hanzo clears his throat and glances down at the man’s lap, but Jesse’s stare is elsewhere. Focused on a screen behind Hanzo’s head, not paying attention. 

Then it’s debriefs, a long conversation with Morrison while Jesse’s hands settle in his pockets, boots kicked up on the table every now and then when he forgets 76 will glare at him to take them down. Hanzo shifts and squirms in his seat, nervous of when McCree will finally get it over with and press the button make him jump and gasp in the old soldier’s presence. He doesn’t. The meeting goes on over an hour. Not a thing happens. Hanzo wants to stick an arrow in Jesse’s ass and push him off a railing for being such a tease, how can he be so patient and calm when there’s a vibrator jammed inside Hanzo just waiting to be used? Blast him.

Dinner is much the same. Hanzo is disappointed. He picks boredly at the rice on his plate, sighing as the room is alight with chatter all around his head. Overwatch is lively. The agents and soldiers have more energy than a group of tired old soldiers mixed in with young blood would be thought to have, but they talk a thousand miles per minute about television shows and music and current events. Hanzo listens in when the subjects of Russia, the second wave of Omnics, or the status of Talon are mentioned. Lucio or Hana are quick to veer the subject away into something brighter. He should stop caring about the toy deep in his body, barely giving him any sensation at this point. Jesse clearly has. His heart stopped racing with anticipation hours ago.

The ronin makes his way to the range long before Jesse does, intent on at least being productive on a day meant for elusive enjoyment that turned into an underwhelming flop. So many prime opportunities to have some ‘fun’, as Jesse is so fond of calling it. Wasted. 

He changes in the locker room, rolling leggings up over his thighs and stepping into shorts. It’s chilly in the range, and Hanzo barely works up a sweat most nights-- just practicing aim, keeping the motion down so his muscle retains the memory on reflex. His mind wanders to all the missed chances throughout the day, times he could’ve been squirming in his hakama and was left with nothing. His fingers slide thoughtlessly over the fletching in his arrows, the string of his bow, the bot resetting the targets beeping genially as he nocks an arrow and fires. 

A little off. He’s distracted. More focus. 

Two more arrows land directly in the center, where he intended them-- he starts to walk, pacing up and down the line and firing off arrow after arrow, the bot chiming as it moves targets and collects the projectiles to be returned. His focus returned, he doesn’t register the sound of boots on the tile behind him. He really should’ve. Careless mistakes, elder dragon, careless.

Jesse’s arms wrap around his shoulders, scratchy beard nuzzling into his shoulder. Hanzo huffs, shifting in the beast’s grip, glaring at his boyfriend. “Yes?” he shoots, shoulder pinned and arm useless for the task at hand. The bow sags in his grip.

“You look mighty fine in those shorts, gorgeous.” Jesse’s voice is low, alluring. He waves a hand at the bot, whispering a ‘shoo’ as it zooms off through a doorway. Ugh.

“Are you not forgetting something, cowboy?” the archer’s voice is raw, hoarse with disuse from the long day. He shifts his grip, letting go of the arrow to reach back and palm Jesse’s hip. The cowboy jumps, the motion obvious with how he’s draped over Hanzo’s body. Jesse swallows. Hanzo can hear it.

“Oh, shit.”

“Mm?”

“I -forgot-.”

“You -what-?” Before Hanzo has the chance to be properly mad, Jesse is laughing up a storm, buckled over his lover with massive arms holding him in place. What a nuisance. The archer squirms, the gunslinger laughs and holds him tighter, reaching down to grip his waist.

“Shit, darlin’. I’m sorry. I forgot about it all day after that meetin’ this morning. Been worried about the New Hampshire thing, didn’t even think about teasin’ you. Can you ever forgive me?” and damn if McCree doesn’t always sound so bleeding genuine, saying things like that. Hanzo groans.

“Allow me to finish. Then you may make it up to me, properly.” Hanzo’s stare has weight and ferocity as he levels it on Jesse one more time, stepping away. His lover has the nerve to pout, crossing his arms and settling on a nearby stool, kicking one boot over his knee. Just a few more arrows left, and Hanzo can fuck Jesse into the floor for his neglect. 

He assumes it’s when he bends to pick up the dropped arrow that Jesse digs in his pocket for the remote.

The first arrow is nothing. Nock, fire. Simple. The second makes it to the bowstring, pulled taught and hard, when the toy starts to buzz directly against his prostate. 

 

Why didn’t Hanzo take it out when he changed? For the love of God.

His shoulders go tense, fingers tight on the arrow’s shaft, shaking. He’s shaking. His body has never shaken like this, not so quickly-- he was denied all day. He has good reason. But he has no excuse for how his body shudders, how the heat of it all overtakes the room and has him burning, how his -thighs are trembling-. 

The arrow is a loaded weapon in his hands-- he must focus. How did he think he could do this all day? The setting must be on its highest. His fingers feel loose and separate from his body as he tries to balance the arrow’s tip, tries to line up the sight with his target. He has to let his arms remember how to do this. He has to let go-- but when he loses focus on the target, all he feels is the heady buzzing inside his body, reminding him he’s on display for Jesse to watch. It’s so -powerful.-

The arrow flies loose from his fingers, nailing the target dead center.

Hanzo falls to his knees. Jesse gasps. 

He’s panting, Storm Bow dropped to the ground beside him. His clothes are too tight. Electricity bites and nips at his spine, makes him yearn for more. Jesse’s hands. His wet, hot mouth. Neither are close enough. Hanzo grips his shirt and tugs, pushes it up, palms flat over his stomach. He never could’ve stomached this all day, he never would’ve been able to pretend he was anything but a needy harlot, begging for his cowboy to debauch and deflower him. The thoughts swim in his head as he feels the presence at his side. The hand in his hair. Hanzo’s eyes lift to see Jesse smiling down at him, sweet as can be. 

 

“Damn, baby. You look a right mess.” His thumb is on the remote. He moves it. The buzzing is louder, audible in his head, and Hanzo falls to his back, whimpering.

He squirms like an animal in heat, pawing at his clothes helplessly-- the leggings are too tight, the shorts constrict, the shirt is too hot. Heels dig into the floor, back arching, hips bucking into nothing as Hanzo’s hands dart to his cock, squeezing helplessly through too many layers of fabric. The ronin whimpers, his lover laughs, one well-worn boot skimming up to tease his cock with the lightest ghost of pressure.

“Don’t you just need that more than anythin’. A good lil’ slut, squirmin’ there on the floor for me. Good thing I didn’ press this button sooner. Whole base woulda seen what kind of a needy thing you are.” Hanzo -wails-. He makes a sound like he’s been punched in the stomach, dick throbbing in agony. It’s thick and straining against the leggings, fingers only capable of pushing the elastic of his shorts down from his waist. 

Jesse purrs and Hanzo whimpers, mouth already open, panting and gasping for air as he shifts on the cool tile floor. The cowboy licks his lips, thumbs the remote. If it has a higher setting, Hanzo thinks he may die. The dart of pink over deceptively soft lips makes him reach for the cowboy’s leg. He’s denied. Jesse’s boot kicks his legs open, and Hanzo cries out in need. 

“Jesse. Jesse, please-- please, I need you to. Touch me.”

“Oh, oh sugar. That’s so sweet, so good. Don’t worry, baby, I’ll get you right outta here. Nobody gonna see you like this but me.” It’s the biggest relief Hanzo could’ve heard, but Jesse doesn’t turn the damn vibrator off. Just reaches down. And lifts him off the ground.

Hanzo has never been more humiliated in his life. His cheeks burn, his hands digging into McCree’s shoulders. Now that he’s allowed to curl up, he does-- curls around Jesse like he needs him to exist, thighs shaking as they bracket the cowboy’s hips. He’s carried. Hanzo couldn’t care where. “Please,” he mutters, eyes fluttering in need. 

“Wait your turn, honey. Just around the corner here.” 

Jesse bounces him in a bed, ripping his shorts down. Hanzo finds the edges of his shirt, still hiked over his abs, and tries to wiggle it over his shoulders-- too tight. Hot. Too constricting. Jesse catches sight of it, reaching up and pushing the soft white fabric up Hanzo’s arms. It feels good, to be manhandled, knowing what’s coming, knowing his cowboy will give him what he wants. Now that he’s spread out in their room, away from prying eyes, Jesse is free to take him apart. Hanzo craves it. 

He should expect the belt tied around his wrists, Jesse’s slacks sagging open as he leans back and smiles at the sight of Hanzo arching off the bed. The damned toy is still on, making Hanzo grunt and gasp, roll his hips up into nothingness. The leggings are stretched taut over his boxer briefs, both sets of fabric tented and bowed over his cock. The slit pokes out from the top, leaking into soft black hair trailing down from his navel. Jesse whistles. 

“Think you’re ready for the next setting.” Another punched-out sound. A beautiful bow of Hanzo’s spine off the bed. “Wonder if you’ll come on just that-”

He’s halfway into the sentence, pressing the dial on the remote up another notch, when Hanzo buckles and -screams-. He comes over his stomach in a messy spurt of white, thighs pressed tight together, head tossing back and forth in a beautiful show. Jesse’d say he’s never seen anything so gorgeous, but this is only the start of how messy he’s made Hanzo in the past. 

What a good start. Jesse purrs, dropping the remote to get both hands on Hanzo’s knees, force them wide open. 

Hanzo’s chest is heaving, his mouth open-- hair sticks to his face, ribbon coming loose in waves. There’s a shiny line of drool on the edge of his mouth, eyes glazed in ecstasy.

He’s so perfect. Jesse loves him with all his heart.

“You ain’t done, sugar. Not by a long shot.”

“Oh, God--”

The leggings are pulled off slow, then Hanzo’s underwear, until he’s bare and naked. His cock bobs with the muscles in his hips twitching, shifting, not yet flaccid. Jesse sighs, dragging a chair over, takes a seat. One leg kicked up. Hanzo could kill him. The arche whimpers, spreads his legs wider. Jesse’s tongue clicks as he snags the remote off the bed, and Hanzo suddenly wants to curl up in agony as the pleasant vibrations turn into too much, oversensitive and pliant.

“Just like that, darlin’. My angel. My lil’ slut. You’re gonna lay just like that ‘till you come again, and maybe then I’ll fuck you just right,” and on anyone else the voice would be edged and hard, but with Jesse McCree it’s soft and gentle. Hanzo whimpers at how kind it is, the warmth in words that promise him sweet, sweet torture. Hands find his ankles and hold him open, force his legs wide. Jesse’s humming and pressing his legs down against the bed, watching with a tipped head and blush on his cheeks at the way Hanzo squirms. His archer’s abs convulse and shake, his hole twitches and begs. 

“How’s it feel? Too much or just enough? S’got two more settings, baby.” 

“Oh, fuck!” Hanzo manages, eyes rolling back as his mouth drops open. Jesse loves that face. Loves seeing him lose his control. Two more settings. He thought the -first- was the highest, but here they are in a room-- Hanzo’s wits come back. Jesse’s room. Jesse carried him all the way across the base to his room. The sheets are that pretty brown and smell like cigars-- They’re in Jesse’s room and Hanzo still has two more mountains to tackle and he can barely even breathe. “Too-- too much.”

Jesse kisses his calf, lifting his leg off the bed and settling the ankle against his shoulder. The buzzing calms down, but only for as long as it takes until Hanzo is hard again, Jesse cooing and purring at him all the way through. 

And suddenly, oh so suddenly, the vibrator’s up so much higher than he’s ever felt it before. Hanzo bows, gasping. His breath comes in rough wheezes, his head tossing on the sheets as his wrist strain at the belt-- nothing’s ever felt quite so intense. Nothing. He whimpers and sobs out Jesse’s name, knees trying to bend, begging to get away from the hands that hold him down.

Deep in the pit of his stomach, Hanzo loves it. He loves knowing Jesse is watching him like this, wet and leaking on the bed as he’s ramped up to his orgasm a second time, hips and spine leaving the bed entirely as he comes weakly over his stomach.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Just like that. Good job, sugarcube, you did so good.” Massive, warm hands pet over his thighs, easing him down. His mind swims. The ronin heaves for breath as he sags into the sheets, Jesse touching his stomach and bending over him. He barely registers the feeling of tongue against his abs, eyes blinking blearily at the ceiling as those same hands pull the vibrator from his body by the cord. It doesn’t even feel strange. Just over-sensitive. He whimpers-- Hanzo Shimada whimpers-- and goes to reach down, push Jesse’s hands away. He can’t.

McCree purrs at him, voice a heady tingling sensation in the back of Hanzo’s skull. He can’t comprehend what he’s saying, just that it’s smooth and gentle, and then Hanzo feels two fingers slipping inside him. They’re wet, a little chilled, but he can hardly care, legs spread open for Jesse to do with as he pleases. He gasps, now and then, touched in all the right (so, so wrong) places, too worked up to breathe as Jesse preps him. One more finger slips in, and Hanzo’s arching and kicking, squirming away from the love of his life.

Things pause-- Hanzo feels those hands, ever present. His eyes close, he breathes in deep, and there’s Jesse’s voice again.

“Hanzo. Hanzo, darlin’, you with me?” He mumbles, inches from his face. 

“Mm.”

“Want me to stop, baby?”

“-No-.”

It’s all he needs to keep going, to spread Hanzo wider and slip out all in a few quick motions. Hanzo hears the shuffling of fabric, feels more than sees Jesse’s body pressed up against the underside of his thighs. Jesse pushes in, the slowest feeling of being full leaves Hanzo breathless and quaking, feeling his American lay over him and mold their bodies together, as they belong. The archer only has the werewithal to drape his hands over broad shoulders, moaning his name weakly. 

“You got one more in you, Hanzo? For me?”


End file.
